


soulmate who wasn't meant to be (or...)

by wishyouweresober



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Bullimic, Collection?, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Addiction Recovery, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorder, Eating Disorder Recovery, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, One Shot, Slow Burn, Soulmates, bc im a sucker for happy endings, bullimia, if u got that quote ily, jamilton does end up happening tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23698255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishyouweresober/pseuds/wishyouweresober
Summary: " It was better for him, he continued to insist. Because when was it okay to be sad, when you could just be overwhelmingly numb?They seemed absolutely petrified at that, his shaky voice and his shaking body. He practically trembled in their embrace, nothing similar to their Alexander. This wasn’t Alexander. It couldn’t be. How could the great Alexander Hamilton be reduced to this? "-alexander hamilton pushes away everyone, including his soulmate thomas jefferson, and this is the aftermath.TW// eating disorder, drug addiction, dubious consent
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Some Random Dudes, Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson, John Laurens/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette
Comments: 4
Kudos: 83





	soulmate who wasn't meant to be (or...)

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! im in the middle of a longterm story u should maybe check that out?? also vv angsty  
> ALSO ALEX KINDA LIKE HAS A WEIRD RELATIONSHIP W HIS MENTAL HEALTH- MUCH OF WHAT HE THINKS ISN'T TRUE. LIKE HE HAS SELF WORTH ISSUES DUE TO HIS MENTAL HEALTH. PLZ DON'T TAKE WHAT HE SAYS AS THE TRUTH U R ALL STRONG AND WONDERFUL AND WORTH THE WORLD  
> these fics r a little self vents but its ok  
> thomas is kinda a dick but a reasonable dick  
> laurens is adorable as is laf thx gn  
> this was written at 6 am im so sorry i havent slept its kinda bad
> 
> also i was thinkin of makin this a collection?? of oneshots (mix of relapses n fluff idk)  
> stay safe guys <3  
> comment if u can :) love seein feedback

They weren’t supposed to be like this. It had felt like, since the very beginning, they were meant to be with each other. After all, their souls were intertwined. Right? They were _meant_ \- No, destined. Destined to be together.

So why did seeing his face feel so damn miserable? 

His heart burnt when they made eye contact, his violet eyes interlocking with the other’s own dark mocha eyes. Just barely, he felt his eyes flit over to his wrist. His wrist, where he knew _that_ would be displayed. He knew that, just as on the other’s, there was a name scribbled onto his wrist. A name written in the most aggressive version of script he thought possible. The same name that burnt holes into his brain with every thought of it.

_Thomas Jefferson_ , he knew.

He _knew_ that it was too late for the feeling of longing, that _tug_ . Because it was him who had first pushed Thomas away. It was _him_ who said that whatever fate said was useless, was as good as garbage. He regretted it, but that spark of pride and that feeling of _eyes_ on him would never allow him to apologize.

Never allow him to speak to Thomas.

He knew that his friends pitied him recently. After all, he wasn’t in complete blissful ignorance of the ways in which his life was slowly falling apart. He could see his frame shrink and yet he couldn’t force himself to just _eat_ . _“Eat, Alex.”_ It wasn’t easy, not with Thomas’ relaxing voice to ease him into- No. He couldn’t think like that anymore. He could see his hair falling out in clumps, and noticed it when John had pecked his forehead as Lafayette combed his fingers through his hair, Hercules watching from a distance and preparing something they’d likely try and force him to eat. He remembered Lafayette’s face, John’s face, Hercules’ face. His auburn red hair, that was slowly fading to a much less vibrant color, had fallen out in a way that could not be normal. They’d all looked so… _Horrified._ Disappointed. He almost felt bad.

It was better for him, he continued to insist. Because when was it okay to be sad, when you could just be _overwhelmingly numb_?

They seemed absolutely petrified at that, his shaky voice and his shaking body. He practically trembled in their embrace, nothing similar to their Alexander. This wasn’t Alexander. It couldn’t be. How could the great Alexander Hamilton be reduced to this? 

Thomas eventually had taken notice of him as well, he thought for sure. He had to, right? But no, he insisted to himself that he couldn’t _care_ . He’d pushed him away. He couldn’t _care_ if when he caught Thomas’ eyes, the same ones that had once been overflowing with emotions but were now cold. So cold he could feel himself shiver at the memory of them. That must’ve jolted whoever was next to him.

Who _was_ next to him?

He felt lips on his neck, he felt an arm squeeze itself around his waist and over the screaming in his head, a voice pounding, a voice yelling _‘No’-_ he could feel himself slip somewhere else. He knew he didn’t want it, but still it felt as if this was necessary.

He just wanted to fucking _feel_ something. 

Maybe Thomas knew, maybe he could see the marks on his neck that he no longer cared to cover. Maybe he could see the scars on his arms from too many needles. Maybe he could see his shaking hands.

Maybe he saw when Washington had pulled him to the side, when the same man who he looked to as a father had told him he was to be on paid suspension for 2 months from his position as Secretary of Treasury of the _god damn_ United States. 

His life was laughable, truly.

He didn’t remember putting up much of a fight, for once in his life. He didn’t remember John driving him home and stopping them abruptly in a parking lot because all of a sudden Alexander had felt _real_ tears slip down his face. He didn’t remember breaking down. He didn’t remember not being able to breathe.

He only remembered waking in the hospital. And for more than one day. On the second, when he woke, John, Hercules, Lafayette, Eliza and Angelica were sitting on chairs next to him. They were looking at the tray that rested near Alexander’s bedside. It was completely full. Alexander hadn’t even touched his food. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to eat more than a certain amount for longer than he could remember. But maybe, he convinced himself, maybe then if he were _skinny_ he could eventually be enough for Thomas. He certainly didn’t deserve him right now.

He saw himself in the mirror for the first time in what felt like forever. His face was gaunt, even he could see that. His cheekbones protruded in a way that was nauseating. His eyes were bloodshot and he didn’t look good.

But yet, he couldn’t bring himself to cry.

He’d seen all of his friends cry, even Angelica. They’d looked so tired, so exhausted, and so worried.

He wasn’t worried. 

Because this is what he wanted.

To slowly, ever so slowly… _Fade away._

Life had been on a standstill since he’d left the hospital. He was Alexander Hamilton, and his pride and hunger for a legacy still stood despite his desire to just _disappear_. He couldn’t allow his last days to be spent there. He needed to leave something behind.

And so, despite his friends’ panicked attempts at forcing him to eat or sleep or stop doing those _fucking_ drugs… He wrote.

He picked up a pen and did the same god damn thing that had gotten him out of Nevis, that had gotten him where he was in the first place.

Alexander didn’t enjoy the place he was in. But somehow he felt himself continue to sink lower. On the occasions where John and Lafayette would look so destroyed as they watched him poke at the plate with a fork and yet not eat, he would eat just to appease them. For appearances. 

And if later, as music blasted from his phone, he kneeled in front of the toilet and ensured that- while he knew it was only less than 30%- those dirty calories wouldn’t be added fat to him... That was something they didn’t know. Because Alexander loved how relieved their faces became.

So his slow death began to approach faster. Not fast enough, unfortunately.

All of the _waiting_ was getting so tiring. He realized, as his weight hit an all-time-low and he had spent 2,000 dollars in just that week on things that he knew weren’t legal, that this wasn’t fast enough. He had to resort to something else. His legacy was set up, the changes and the reforms that he knew his country needed. His voice was left. He could finally _leave_.

The hospital’s bright lights were exhausting. Seeing John cry into Lafayette’s shoulder was devastating. He hated what he’d become. He hated seeing all of his friends look at him like he was dead. He hated the feeding tube that he’d tried to take out while he thrashed and fought. He hated the lack of hunger and the lack of a high euphoria.

But he also hated _so much_ how his friends looked at him. And how Thomas wasn’t even _there_. 

He couldn’t quite remember when things began to change. Maybe it was the first time that Thomas showed up at Alexander’s house. John and Lafayette were staying with him for the time being, and it was exactly a month since Alexander had to leave work. It was exactly a month since Thomas had seen Alexander. 

Alexander hadn’t noticed him at first. He was still sat where his friends had left him to open the door, staring at a long-gone-cold bowl of oatmeal that they put out for him. They insisted that despite them not being able to force him to eat, he had to sit at meals with them. At least then they could monitor what he was doing. And Alexander thought they didn’t need to know about what he would do after, his knuckles telling the sad story. Thomas had seen him for the first time in a month like that. Alexander could only imagine what the man thought. He was dressed in a giant dark green sweatshirt and black sweatpants. He was skinnier than before, he knew. He had what looked like scabs all over his face. He sat shivering. Hickeys marred his neck and areas of skin that he was nearly upset Thomas couldn’t see. He hadn’t looked up, but he could feel the signature tug of his _soulmate_ being so close. And he didn’t want to look up. He thought it was funny, almost. But he found himself, in that moment, unable to laugh. 

Thomas’ voice felt like the relief that he’d been searching for throughout all of this, just a small, “Alexander.”

Alexander didn’t want to look up. He didn’t want to. But somehow, as if from an inescapable grip, he felt himself turn and lock eyes with Thomas. Thomas looked… Broken. _Why_ , he couldn’t help but ask himself, _I’d only done what was right_.

“Thomas,” his voice was scratchy from yelling matches that he’d put John and Lafayette- _who he loved so dearly that every word hurt more than physically even through his anger-_ through. They were tired, he could tell. He could see in the ways they collapsed into bed. He could see in the ways their own relationship was tested, in the way that- as he stumbled through the door at 3 A.M. high and dizzy and leading a man much larger than him- he could see John laying on the couch in the admittedly luxurious living room, looking at him with the strangest look. His house was so much better and much more elite than the actual situation of which he was living through.

Thomas looked at him and he thought that maybe Thomas was genuinely staring into his soul. He wanted to snicker at that, because he was sure it was marred and disgusting and _toxic_.

“Get your shit together, will you?” Thomas had sneered. And then he’d done the unpredictable and he’d put his hand to Alexander’s cheek and caressed softly for a split second. Alexander felt himself _melt_. But the hand was away as soon as it arrived.

“I-”

“ _No_. No excuses. You need to eat and sleep and you need to get yourself together.”

Thomas was gone soon after, disappeared through the door and left Alexander holding himself as much as he could, forcing himself upright and awake. 

And for once, as John and Lafayette sat down next to him, he allowed himself a moment to _cry_.

The road there was not easy. Hell, accepting he wasn’t ‘there’ already was hard enough. But throughout it he had John who would insist he wasn’t tired as Alexander sat at the kitchen table for nearly an hour and a half solely to finish the neatly measured meal of white rice,- _he tried to ignore the numbers running through his head_ \- chicken, and carrots. And John hadn’t been angry all of the times that Alexander threw the plate to the floor in frustration and pure anger. Lafayette hadn’t been angry when he’d stumbled into the house with a bag, a needle, and an emptier wallet. 

That wasn’t to say there weren’t days where he felt back to ‘normal’ again, days where he convinced himself that it was all a ruse and he’d been fine this whole time. But then, like waves crashing upon a calm shore, he’d crashed.

Similar to one time, when John and Lafayette had believed he was doing so much better. Foolishly hoped he was arriving closer to health. But when John started to hear retching noises from the bathroom- of which Alexander had hurriedly excused himself to about 2 minutes previous from the dinner table- he knew they were wrong.

He slammed open the door with a strength he didn’t know he had and almost sobbed as he pulled Alexander’s fingers away from his throat and held the man against his chest. Alexander’s weak fists pounded harshly as he screamed and tried to push him away. 

Alexander had eventually calmed, and the three of them ended up on the couch, Alexander laying across both of their laps. An incident like that was thankfully much less common in the following days.

When he went back to work a month later, he was begrudgingly and semi-proudly up 6 pounds- _still horribly underweight, John had spoken in tears to Lafayette, Alexander watching silently from behind the door_ \- and his eyes had slightly cleared up, and he shook only sometimes. Headaches, he’d noticed, were frequent. And nausea. And _shit_ every time he looked into a mirror all he saw was _fat, fat, fat, worthless_ and it hurt.

Thomas had avoided eye contact, any contact truly, with him since he’d arrived. That hurt even more than the mirror. That hurt more than the needle and more than the feeling of hunger than edged into nausea and then cramps that had him doubled over.

The press had been at a small scale, unbelievably. Everyone was shocked they hadn’t eaten this up like candy.

Washington seemed proud of him, but shocked at the fact that it was such a slight difference that was made. Everyone was, really. Except for John, Hercules, Eliza, and Lafayette who insisted they were so proud because he’d come so far.

Had he, really?

Another 2 months in. He’d gained 14 pounds since he’d left work. He hadn’t taken _anything_ in three weeks. It hadn’t gotten any easier. He hated how hard it still was. He nearly gave up, specifically one night in April.

He had gone out on a walk, feeling like the kitchen walls were caving in as he sat staring at his half-finished plate. John and Lafayette looked sick, their worried eyes exchanging glances. He could barely remember mumbling a small “ _Excuse me_ ” before he’d walked out and out the door and to the only place he felt fine.

The same usual people were crowded in the same usual spot and the same woman in particular was leaning against the stone wall and smirked as she saw Alexander again. The smirk that read _‘I knew you couldn’t do it_ ’. Alexander could see Thomas’ eyes in his mind and John’s tears and Lafayette’s frown and Eliza’s tired eyes and-

He _couldn’t_ do this anymore.

He’d walked home with 10 less dollars and a small baggie. He’d walked home and held the bag in a tight grip in his pocket and saw John and Lafayette still at the table, their heads down and tears dripping down their faces and- with the most pained and torn face he thought he’d ever had- he ripped the bag out of his pocket and stood in the living room with it gripped hard in his shaking hand. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought, truly thought of whether or not it was worth it. He had a small single use bag, so that meant it would just be _one_ use. He could easily slip back into his room and not _eat_ and watch the numbers drop and satisfy himself with the prick of a needle in his arm and the rush of-

He approached the table and held his clenched hand over it and he could hear Lafayette’s sharp inhale. He glared at the bag and glared at the _situation_ and what had become his _life_ and threw it onto the table and collapsed into the chair and forced himself to finish half of what was left on his plate and maybe he could feel his bones uncomfortably digging in no matter how he positioned himself, but seeing John’s small smile was worth it enough.

He could do this, he convinced himself.

He’d found support in people, for once in his life. Not only the ones he’d already known, but he began to meet up with Maria Lewis twice a week in a coffee shop, and he’d slowly felt himself move closer and closer to recovery. She was in a similar situation as himself, but in such a different way. But slowly, she found herself recovering as well.

Thomas first spoke to him again alone about 7 months into his recovery. He’d walked into his office with the same sense of air that just _screamed_ Thomas Jeffeson and he’d put a packet onto Alexander’s desk with a sigh. “Alexander,” he started, “I made some corrections to your bill. Review them and get back to me tomorrow. 3 P.M. at Revolutionary’s Cafe.”

Alexander could barely stutter out a confirmation before Thomas nodded at him and left. 

Alexander was far from recovered, but with the way that life seemed to reward him for his achievements and steps… Maybe he’d feel less like it was a futile effort.

The date- _no, not date_. The meeting had gone better than Alexander could’ve ever hoped for. Then again, he supposed, they were soulmates. 

Thomas had seemed so happy and he was so _funny_ and he was so beautiful. 

Alexander was gaining weight and slowly looking more healthy. Alexander was nearing his 5 month sober chip and his complexion had cleared. But still, he couldn’t help but feel as if it were not enough.

Thomas must’ve noticed his smile falter for the moment that it did, as despite him critiquing Alexander’s hard work, he reached forward and held the man’s hand. Somehow, that made it slightly easier for Alexander to bring another bite of his salad to his lips. Salad with dressing and croutons and cheese, as well. 

John and Lafayette moved out again after a year and a half into recovery. He hadn’t touched anything for a little less than a year. They still visited nearly every day, but rather than making sure he had no baggies or needles or pills laying around the house, they just gave him deadpan looks when he tried to excuse himself from eating- _which rarely happened, Alexander knew proudly_ \- and held him when he shook and cried and _begged_ for just a little. Just something to take the edge off, to get rid of the itch. 

Thomas was there too.

He was there for moments when Alexander couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t _breathe_ . And he stayed. Even when Alexander screamed his throat raw because he _couldn’t_ eat and when he’d ended up kneeling on the bathroom floor again. Or when he tried to sneak away at 3 A.M. to the same place he’d always sought comfort in. 

As ‘destined’, they’d gradually fallen into what _could_ be called a relationship. It still wasn’t confirmed. And as someone who had been on the border of death for too many times in his life, Alexander just wanted something definite.

“Thomas,” he’d asked one night, while they were watching some movie and Alexander was chewing on exactly _two cups_ \- he hated that he still felt the need to measure it- of popcorn, “What are we?”

Thomas had grinned and tightened the arm around him, “Well, how’s boyfriends?”

Alexander had come so far. He was in the lower range of healthy weights- but still _healthy_ he thought estactically- and he no longer felt incomplete without the feeling of a needle or the feeling of pills going down his throat roughly. 

John and Lafayette had gotten married. Alexander had toasted with tears in his eyes as John’s best man and he’d hugged his best friend and he was so damn _happy_ with how his life turned out.


End file.
